Chapter Two

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It's the one constant in life.
You build something worth having, someone's gonna try to take it.
-John Dutton

 -John Dutton

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Now......

Rain gently drizzled over the sprawling six-hundred-thousand-acre ranch, revealing a stunning scene from the highest peak. Lush trees in various shades of green, pastures where eight hundred cattle grazed, and an unsettled river rich with fish created a picturesque landscape. The diverse wildlife included mule and white-tail deer, while predators like grey wolves, coyotes, and grizzly bears roamed the vast land. The clock read just past four in the morning, with the sun yet to rise.

Clusters of white buildings dotted the landscape, including a substantial stable with horses ready for the day. An extended loafing shed, a medium-sized structure for equipment and storage, a spacious riding arena, and a smaller one completed the setup. A large bunkhouse stood to the side where wranglers fueled up on breakfast and coffee. A pole barn housed various ATVs and trailers. Some might call it peace on earth, while others might describe it as something akin to hell.

If you asked Bucky Barnes, there was no better place on earth than the peace found at the Rogers Blackwood Ranch

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If you asked Bucky Barnes, there was no better place on earth than the peace found at the Rogers Blackwood Ranch.

A soft orange glow had yet to grace Blackwood Ranch as the sun remained hidden behind the mountain ridge. It would take another hour and a half for the sun to rise, casting its light over the dense trees and expansive, green pastures, signaling the start of a new day in the valley.

Nestled beside the bunkhouse, the unassuming foreman's dwelling stood—a one-bedroom, one-bathroom space with a combined living room and kitchen.

Bucky yawned, glancing at his watch—it was just a little past four. Sipping his steaming coffee, he tried to shake off the morning grogginess. Being the foreman at Blackwood Ranch for eleven years meant he had worked alongside Steve every summer since their childhood. The land was as familiar to him as the back of his hand.

Emptying the last bit of coffee from his cup, Bucky ran his fingers through his dark hair before placing his cowboy hat atop his head. Grabbing his leather gloves from the counter, he slipped on his jacket.

Under a Montana Sky | 18+ {Steve Rogers}Where stories live. Discover now